


Stuck

by Westgate (Harkpad)



Series: Scenes From the Aftermath [1]
Category: Marvel, Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Aftermath, Angst, Angsty Schmoop, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, right after Battle of New York
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-17
Updated: 2014-07-17
Packaged: 2018-02-09 08:02:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1975254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Harkpad/pseuds/Westgate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil manages to get up again only a few hours after the battle is over, but by then Clint is in Medical and in bad shape. Bedside comfort ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stuck

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah. So. I just needed this and I want it archived with the rest of my things. I posted it on Tumblr first. (westgateoh) It's just straight-up hurt/comfort, really. Needed for my sanity.

“He fought with the others, they acted like a god damned team, it was beautiful,” Nick said.

Phil saw the ‘but now’ written all over Nick’s face. “What happened?”

“It’s like everything that happened hit him after the battle and – things went to shit.”

Phil rushes down to Medical and finds Dr. Henley for an explanation. Words like ‘speed,’ ‘dehydration,’ ‘multiple abrasions,’ ‘exhaustion,’ and ‘high blood pressure’ stick him like tacks, and he flinches outwardly when Henley says, “We’re also concerned about self-harm.”

Phil finally enters the room, and has to remind himself to breathe when he sees Clint lying in the medical bed. He looks like he might crumble to dust with a poke. The flimsy gown is the first clue something is horribly wrong.

A gown means he isn’t fighting.

Phil forces himself to breathe again and approaches the bed.

Clint is awake, but his eyes are red-rimmed and wet, like he’s been crying, or like he can’t stop. His skin is paper white, thin-looking and covered in sweat. He looks like he hasn’t shaved in a few days and his hair is plastered to his head.

 “They said you were dead,” he says, rolling his head slowly to look at Phil, and his eyelids flutter at the effort. He forces his eyes back open and tries to meet Phil’s gaze. “Then the doc just came and said you were alive.” He pauses and sucks in a labored breath. “I figure I’m pretty wasted at this point, so I’m going with dead. ‘S what I deserve.”

Phil swallows a swell of anger and reaches down, brushes sweat-soaked hair from Clint’s face and tries to look assuring. “You deserve to get what you want.”

“Fuck. I know you’re dead now. You never lied to me before,” he says, and his voice sounds like a rock scraping across glass, thin and searing.

“I’m alive, Clint. I’m here. I wouldn’t lie to you. I don’t.” He catches himself pleading.

Clint stares at him. He reaches up with a trembling hand and Phil catches it, wraps it in his own hand and puts his other hand on Clint’s damp cheek.

“They said,” Clint protests.

 “Fury thought I was. I made a dumb mistake and Fury thought I was. He wasn’t lying. No one is lying to you, Clint. You have to calm down and let the doctors help you.”

Phil sees self-loathing flash through Clint’s eyes and his head drops back against his pillow. He closes his eyes. “Are you really here?” he asks softly.

“Yes. I tested an LMD without permission. It knocked me out during the battle but now I’m okay. You fought hard and saved the world from an alien attack, Clint. You fought hard. You need to rest.”

“Killed so many people,” Clint whispers.

“That wasn’t you.”

“Sort of,” he says, looking up at Phil. “It was sort of me.”

Phil hears it then, the fight in Clint’s voice he’s listening for, and he smiles down at Clint. “Why don’t you calm down, relax, and get better so that you can fight with me, Natasha, and Psych over which sort of you it was or wasn’t? Come on, Clint. Close your eyes and rest. I’ll be right here.”

“Don’t deserve you,” he says, but before Phil can protest again, he sighs, “But I’ll take you anyway.” He closes his eyes and Phil sees his body relax a fraction. “Don’t leave again.”

“Nope,” Phil says, and he leans over and kisses Clint’s forehead. “I’m not leaving.”

“Stuck,” Clint whispers, his eyes still closed. “I was stuck, you know? Stuck and stuck and stuck and the fucker wouldn’t let any part of me go.”

“I know,” Phil says, pulling a chair up to the edge of the bed. If Clint was still on speed he might not be sleeping any time soon. “You got away, though. You’re not stuck anymore.”

“You are, though,” Clint says, and Phil breathes out a shaky breath of relief as Clint adds, “Stuck with me.”

“Good. Stuck with you is good.”

“That’s what he says now,” Clint sings to himself, his voice finally becoming breathy and light, and he doesn’t open his eyes, but a smile tugs at his face. Phil watches the monitor gratefully as Clint’s heart rate starts to slow down.

“Always,” Phil says, determined to get the last word in here because Clint _needs_ to hear it. “Stuck with you is always good.”


End file.
